


new normal

by katewritessometimes



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Haircuts, Mutual Pining, Useless Lesbians, they're lesbians harold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 19:40:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19708105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katewritessometimes/pseuds/katewritessometimes
Summary: connor butchers her hair and hank helps her out. incredibly self-indulgent. shoutout to bella thanks for indulging my hyperfixations. x





	new normal

If Hank was asked when Connor had moved in with her, no specific date would come to mind. It hadn’t been a decision they’d made, something discussed and neatly planned out. Things with the two of them rarely were. They had been put together and stayed that way and that was that. 

But they do live together and it’s good. Connor went deviant some months ago and they’d settled into something not quite new but also not quite normal yet all the same, it worked for them. They fit together without ever having meant to and Hank begrudgingly admits to herself that the android’s company is pretty alright. A small part of her says it’s more than alright, it’s great and wonderful, but Hank keeps that part of her firmly locked down. Doesn’t matter how she feels, it’s not like Connor will ever feel the same. 

Connor  _ does _ feel the same, but Hank and Connor aren’t good at talking things out.

Hank has switched to working as a private detective, working private cases and when called in by the DPD which was truly more often than she would have liked. But money is money and the mortgage needs to be paid so she takes them. 

It’s late in the evening after one such case when Hank returns home, sighing and hanging her coat up on the rack by the door.

“Connor?” She calls, furrowing her eyebrows at the strange silence and the lack of Sumo jumping up on her for kisses. “Where are you?”   
  
She walks further into the house, poking her head in the kitchen, living room, and bedroom before finally making her way to the bathroom. There stands Connor with Sumo at her feet and a pair of scissors Hank knows to be slightly dull in her hands. Brown curls sit in the sink and on the counter and the hair left on Connor’s head is jagged and short, a frown on her lips as she stares at herself in the mirror.    
  
“Connor?”   
  
It’s as if she’s in a daze, pulled out at the sound of her name.

“Hank. Hello,” Connor replies, blinking up at the grey-haired woman with dark curls in one hand and scissors in the other. “I… cut my hair.”   
  
Hank can’t help but let a huff of laughter slip from her nose as she takes the scissors, eyes meeting Connor’s in the mirror with a raised brow. “You did. Can I fix you up?” Before getting an answer, Hank gestures for Connor to follow her out and to the kitchen. She remembers the day she first took scissors and a razor to her head, back when she was young and blonde and firmly locked in the closet. It had been a bloodbath. Connor had been through enough.

Large hands move to slight shoulders as Hank guides Connor into a chair at the kitchen table before digging through a drawer, pulling out a pair of still in the package scissors. Ripping the cardboard off with her teeth, Hank tosses it in the trash before heading over to her record player and putting the needle down. Can’t talk and cut hair at the same time and silence with Connor gives her too much room for thinking. 

Slowly, cautiously, carefully, Hank starts carefully trimming Connor’s hair, the vague scent of peaches wafting towards her with each snip. (Peach had been Connor’s choice of scent; even though she didn’t really need to wash her hair, really, she  _ wanted _ to and who was Hank to say no?) As the music plays, she finds herself absently humming along, the melody washing over her as she works. This is nice, really nice, and Hank doesn’t want it to end.

  
It does, though. Of course it does. When she’s finished, Connor’s hair is to her shoulders, the bits in the front that had been utterly decimated by dull scissors turned into wispy bangs. Not to toot her own horn, but it looks damn good. “Alright. Go check it out.”

Connor stands and walks towards the bathroom, followed closely by Hank. The light switch is flipped and Connor just stares. She stares and stares for ages, moments that could be seconds or years. She hates it, doesn’t she? Does android hair grow back? Is that common knowledge for most? Hank doesn’t know and she’s gonna feel like shit if she’s messed this up.

There’s a flurry of movement and a thud and suddenly Hank has an armful of android. Well, shit, she must not have fucked up that badly. This is… nice. It’s  _ nice. _ Hank freezes for a moment before relaxing and letting her arms wrap around Connor in return. The smell of peaches fills her nose and her eyes fall shut, enjoying the feeling of holding and being held. Things like this are rare for Connor and Hank wants to commit the moment to memory. 

It ends eventually, of course, and the night slips back into their new normal. They settle on the sofa, Sumo stretched between them, and if Connor touches her hair more often with a small smile that draws one from Hank every time, neither of them say anything.


End file.
